The white light slowly settled, and the last shimmering particles of it faded into the air of the Founders' Hall.
Daniel, with his usual calmness, stepped out of the light and stood on the cold, ancient stones of the hall. As if he had simply walked from one room to another, not returned from a trial whose true nature no one had understood for thousands of years.
But around him... no sound could be heard.
All the senior professors, Supreme Council members, Varcas, Serys, Lioran, and even the ancient guardian of the trial, Azreon, were just staring at him.
Not because of his aura, not because of his power, but because of that unknown rune that had replaced all the numbers on the trial's pillar.
A rune that was recorded in no book, and not even one of the tower's archaeologist professors could find the slightest resemblance between it and any ancient language.
"What... language is this...?" One of the elderly professors muttered under his breath.
